


you are a wonder

by wordcatchers



Series: through these trembling to still waters [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Developing Relationship, F/F, Harry Potter is a Good Friend, Healing, Magic Cock, Meddlesome Narcissa, Permanent Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Tiniest Hints of Drarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordcatchers/pseuds/wordcatchers
Summary: She closes her eyes, feels safe here. Something she thought she’d never feel when around a Black sister. One had tortured her, another had watched and done nothing, so despite the tales she’d heard of Andromeda Tonks, formerly Black, she’d worried herself to death that some other Black sister was out there, ready to hurt her in some new way.But no, she’d been wrong.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Andromeda Black Tonks
Series: through these trembling to still waters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112051
Comments: 10
Kudos: 134





	you are a wonder

**Author's Note:**

> when I first read Hermione x Black sisters fic this summer, I was initially drawn to Andromeda and Hermione and thought I'd write something with the two of them first. Strictly following canon, it made the most sense to me, but I got a tad distracted by possibilities with Narcissa. Anyway, I wanted to try my hand at writing them before the end of the year. So. This happened. And somehow turned into smut at the end? 😅 Happy holiday season to y'all!
> 
>  **note:** this was previously titled "you are a wonder (in these still to trembling waters)," but I never quite said that the part in parentheses was me tentatively storing a series title away for the time being. ;) anyway, it's part of a series now.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks gently, and she scrunches her face up and blows out an exasperated breath. As if she’s something breakable, something that will shatter the minute she sees Andromeda Tonks for the first time. _She looks almost exactly like…_ he’d skirted around Bellatrix Lestrange’s name entirely, _y’know, her. If she’d taken, er, care of herself properly. It was hard for me the first time._ Hermione reassures Harry again that, yes, she’ll be fine, she’s handled so much else during their years as friends… how can this be anything different, anything more than rising to meet what is so apparently a challenge? Because that’s what it’s turned into now. Her left hand and fingers tremble.

It’s not as if they’re doing this right after the Battle of Hogwarts. No, Harry _has_ taken on his responsibility as Teddy Lupin’s godfather seriously, and Hermione knows her friend is likely one of the most prepared wizards ever to be a dad if he ever so chooses to have children with anyone. He’s practically been Teddy’s live-in uncle for the first two years of the boy’s life, and by the way Harry speaks of Andromeda, Hermione wonders if the woman has become more of a mum to him than Molly Weasley ever had. She sounds lovely. Hermione just hasn’t… found a reason to properly meet the woman. Still doesn’t _technically_ have one for the woman herself, except Harry wants her to meet Teddy in his home environment first, and that's with Andromeda.

She knows this wouldn’t have even needed to happen this way if she’d only gone to the Burrow for holidays, as she’d always planned to after the war was over if they survived it. But she and Ron had drifted apart after she explained away that one bloody kiss she never should have let herself give him _._ And, well, after that things had become rather awkward. Molly wouldn’t stop trying to pressure the two of them to get together, saying they were absolutely perfect for each other until eventually Ginny had blown up in front of her mum and said that _sometimes_ , just sometimes, things don’t work out like they do in fanciful children’s tales. Hermione knew then as Harry had swallowed uncomfortably, shifting oddly in his seat, that the youngest Weasley was speaking from experience.

It hadn’t helped matters when Molly Weasley seemed to take it as a personal offence when Hermione admitted that she was only attracted to witches. As if she’d led Ron on, and then she was questioned about why she’d even gone to the Yule Ball with Viktor if she didn’t enjoy the company of wizards. That row had been one of the most unpleasant she’d ever had, and that was saying something considering what had gone on between her and the boys during the Horcrux hunt of ‘97 and ‘98. As if she was supposed to automatically _know_ her sexuality at the tender age of fifteen, when she’d been raised in the Muggle world where same-gender attraction was perhaps, at society’s best, somewhat silently accepted, and at worst, apparent grounds for bloody _maiming_ and _murder_ , as evident by the bombing on the Admiral Duncan in Muggle London about a year and a half ago. Not to even mention living through a building war starting at the age of twelve, then being in the _middle_ of said war once it came to full light, wasn't all that conducive to figuring out one's sexuality.

God, where are they again? Oh, Harry’s moving to put a comforting grip on her shoulder, those damn green eyes so soft and gentle, and she’s really got one of the best mates in him, hasn’t she? After everything he’d been through, and after the war one of the first things he’d done was sodding _apologise_ to her for, as he called it, “being a right prat,” “not paying enough attention to her and what was going on in her life,” and… especially, namely what she’d done to her parents.

_“If you’d never become friends with me, you wouldn’t have had to—”_

_“Now stop right bloody there, Harry, I—you know our friendship was... It didn’t start off that wonderful, beating a troll up with my help, but I wouldn't trade you for the world. I could put my… typical teenage shite aside, considering what was happening with_ you _.”_

_“Placing a memory modification charm on your parents… Hermione, that isn’t ‘typical teenage shite,’ and you know it.”_

_“You… you’re right. But… I can’t—”_

_“No. No, you don’t, Hermione. I’m coming with you when you set things right with them. It can be the start of_ me _trying to set things right with_ you _. Be a proper mate, yeah? Now that all this Riddle business is finished?”_

“Hey, Hermione, be honest with me—are you _really_ sure?” Harry asks again. Hermione scuffs her boot on the floor of Harry’s flat and then looks up to meet his eyes, failing to stop the minute tremors in her left hand. She's not sure why she tries.

She breathes out softly and nods. “Yes, I’m really, _truly_ sure. If I somehow can’t handle it, I’ll— I’ll mention that I forgot to feed Crooks.”

Harry blinks. “But you haven’t—”

“Seen him since I left him at the Burrow in ‘97, I’m aware. But Mrs Tonks doesn’t know that, right?”

His eyes light up in understanding, and he smirks. “Right. And y’know, have you thought any more on going back to the menagerie and buying a proper witch’s cat?” She laughs and pushes him playfully before grabbing up the container of Floo powder, shoving it towards him so he can arrive at the Tonks’ residence first.

“The day I get a plain old cat will be the day hell freezes over,” and she’s glad that Harry understands the reference. Merlin knows how often she’s had to catch herself around pure-bloods and plenty of half-bloods in the past before essentially shouting from the rooftops how deep her Muggle-born waters ran. _Still_ run, and always will. Can’t erase the first eleven or so years of her life, even if she could and did alter her parents’ memories for over a year. At least they have all of their true memories back now, even if the price has been her swearing on her nan’s grave that she’ll never perform magic around them again. Always leaves her wand in plain sight on the mantle when visiting. It’s a small price to pay, nonexistent really.

When she’s left with the Floo powder and an empty flat, she casts one last look around and takes a deep breath, telling herself that no matter how much Andromeda Tonks might look like her deranged and deceased older sister, she’s _not_ her. Bellatrix has been dead for two and a half years now.

She’s safe.

* * *

“She’s in the kitchen, preparing lunch,” Harry whispers as she steps out of the fireplace a few minutes later, dusting a light layer of soot off her robes. He doesn’t mention the lag between his arrival and hers, and she doesn’t bring up that she’d needed to pace the length of the fireplace several times before summoning that Gryffindor courage in her.

Hermione blinks and takes a look at Harry holding a resting Teddy on his hip, then smiles as she steps forward and shifts her eyes around to take in the rest of the living area—a small sitting room, she supposes? It’s insanely homey, something she never would have expected from a daughter of the House of Black, but… Andromeda had been married to a Muggle-born like herself. Edward Tonks, former Hufflepuff. She sees him in family portraits above the fireplace, along with… _oh_ , it still breaks her heart to see Tonks. Nymphadora, that name she never liked to be called. She’s smiling broadly in photographs, some solo, some with her mum and dad.

Andromeda truly lost so much during the wars. Both of them. She feels her heart slightly break then begin to stitch itself back together. If she—if she _does_ feel like she’s going to, in no short terms _lose_ it, when she sees the middle Black sister, she tells herself she’s not going to let Andromeda see it. It’s the least she can do for someone who she’s never met before, who’s opened her home up to her. Not as if that should be a feat for a pure-blood who married a Muggle-born and was disowned by her pure-blood supremacist family for it, for simply finding _love_ no matter blood status, but. She still somehow can’t get over this cosy house. It’s as if she’s stumbled into the household personification of the feeling of being snuggled up inside of a blanket, sitting in front of a warm fireplace. And the evidence of yet another successful, if albeit also tragic tale of pure-blood and Muggle-born coming together in love. Of course, her other example has and will always be James Potter and Lily Evans, Harry’s mum and dad. She wonders for a moment if she’d come here right after the war, if it had lost this feeling, and if so—how long did it take to return?

“This is… this is really something,” Hermione says, keeping her voice soft for Teddy’s sake. “And _he_ sure is something. You’ve said he’s a metamorphmagus like his—his mum, right?” She asks because despite the photographs she’s seen, she doesn’t currently see anything about the young lad that looks out-of-place. He’s got honey brown, somewhat wavy hair, and he—she simply can’t know if this is his natural appearance or something else. But he’s not sporting some outlandish hair colour as his mother had. Harry chuckles, and she worries for a moment that the reverberation of Harry’s chest will wake Teddy and force her to interact with him right away, despite the sore lack of experience she’s had with children, but the boy doesn’t stir.

Harry draws his fingers, a light touch, through Teddy’s wavy locks and breathes out, “Mhmm. Reverts when sleeping, though.” He looks at the small boy with such tenderness that it melts something in Hermione’s heart, and she suddenly feels like—oh, if she fancied men, she might be feeling something fierce about this sight in front of her right now. Well, if she were into men _and_ if Harry was not so much like a brother to her. Someone’ll be lucky to have him. Not sure who, as Harry’s so secretive about his love life (“or lack of it—you don’t know me _that_ well, Hermione! Let a bloke have his secrets, yeah?”), but if he wants to be a father someday, his spouse and children will be fortunate.

A small bell rings out through the household and a warm voice comes from the direction of what Hermione presumes is the kitchen. “Lunch is ready, you two!”

Hermione slides her eyes over to Harry with a quizzical look. “Does she not know—”

“She means… Teddy here’s already had his lunch, which is why he was so easy to get like this. Ran to me all excited only to tucker out almost immediately. I’ll take him upstairs and put him to bed. The loo on this floor is down the hall, across or so from the kitchen.” She pats him on the back and watches as he ascends the stairs with Teddy still on his hip, then breathes in… out, and finally heads toward where she’d heard that feminine voice. That voice that had not sounded like Bellatrix’s, because Lestrange had never said _anything_ in a warm, welcoming tone.

She pauses at the first doorway she comes across, side-eyeing it as she hears pots and pans and footsteps. Hermione swallows and cracks the door open, stepping partially inside until she sees a woman, or at least the back of her, and that’s tamed, semi-curly hair cascading down to the bottom portion of the witch’s shoulder blades. The light of the room shows that it’s not black hair, but a medium-warm brown like chestnut. Clearing her throat, Hermione quietly says hello and despite Harry telling her the loo’s on this same hall, finds herself posing the same question to her.

“I should, er, wash my hands first,” she lamely explains, then scarcely holds back a gasp as the woman finishes setting the table and turns to face her. Squared jawline, same shape of brown eyes, similar aristocratic features… she and Bellatrix must have definitely been mistaken for twins before… before everything. Hermione gulps and scarcely hears what comes out of Andromeda’s mouth before she gives a curt nod and turns, finding the bathroom only a few meters down the hall. There’s a Muggle locking mechanism on the inside of the door, and the sight of such a thing inexplicably calms her enough to slow her breathing. She uses it, then heads to the sink where she splashes some cold water on her face with her left hand before pulling a vial from a pocket within her robes, another concoction to mostly halt the tremors that sometimes wrack her hand. She swallows it down and places the empty vial back in her robes, eyeing herself in the mirror again.

“She’s _dead_ , Hermione. Mrs Tonks isn’t… she’s not _her_. She’s not.” Gripping the sink with her working left hand, her fingers still twitching, she presses her eyes shut and thinks back on the sight of Andromeda, sorting through differences. Same strong jaw, yes, but… not exactly. Andromeda’s is more rounded. Her eyes are a lighter brown, perhaps a bit lighter than her hair. And those eyes hadn’t looked at her in hatred, in revulsion. Simply in welcome, and perhaps… concern? Hermione turns the water on again and sniffles to clear her emotionally-affected sinuses as she washes her hands, making sure to get the right one as well even though she can't use it anymore, then prepares to go back into the kitchen. She’s bloody Hermione Jean Granger. She can handle this.

When she enters the kitchen again, door now fully open, she finds Harry waving to her and the back of Mrs Tonks head before the other witch partially turns, welcoming her to join them. She almost glares at Harry considering the only seat left open is right by Andromeda, but he only smiles and starts to stand before she raises a hand, grateful for the potion remedying the tremors. “I can get my own seat, but thanks, Harry.” She shoots him a small smile and he shrugs, sitting back down. She knows him better than to think he's trying to offend her; he's only trying to be a gentleman, but still. One functioning hand is one _functioning_ hand.

Her heart’s pounding, seeing curls out of her peripheral vision that viscerally remind her despite the differences. The food almost tastes like ash in her mouth until she’s surprised by a warm hand resting itself on her left thigh, drawing her out of her own head and memories and fears. She’s been managing to nearly fool Harry, though he glances over at her with some measure of concern every so often during the conversation, to which she’s only contributed loosely to, keeping track of it well enough to not completely make a fool out of herself, but clearly this witch she’s never met before has noticed. The hand doesn’t move away, and Hermione knows she should probably say something to Andromeda, but it—it’s almost too much already. Bellatrix never would have touched her like this. Not so gently, not— this is obviously meant to reassure her, to give her something tactile to hold onto and steady herself. It’s… strangely comforting, and Harry’s none the wiser as he talks about his latest Auror mission with the DMLE.

By the time they finish with the meal that Andromeda prepared, Hermione’s been able to actually taste the rest of her food. The soft touch to her lower thigh helped, as well as the way Andromeda had every so often moved her thumb in a soothing circular motion. It probably… shouldn’t have helped so much, but it did, and she isn’t about to outright question it. She simply accepts that the older witch has a keen eye for noticing when people need something to ground them and has given it freely to Hermione. Out of the… yes, the goodness of her heart. Goodness found in a member of the Black family. Besides Sirius, of course, and Regulus at the end of his life. And maybe Narcissa to some degree.

She discards the strange feeling that comes over her when Andromeda finally removes her hand and leaves the table to begin washing the dishes. Harry offers to help, but Mrs Tonks merely shoos him off, instead asking him to check on Teddy, because “he’ll likely wake soon enough, and it’d do him good to see his Uncle Harry first thing.” And that, well. That leaves Hermione alone with the other woman. She doesn’t offer to help, only _does_. Anything to busy herself and her mind, and thankfully Andromeda doesn’t rush her off or assume that she _can’t_. They work in tandem—Andromeda washing, Hermione drying with aid of a steady levitation charm she's modified for her own usage—until Hermione can’t help but blurt out, “I’m surprised that you don’t use magic to accomplish this.”

Andromeda looks over at her with a wry smile. “In the camp of ‘pure-bloods can’t learn new tricks,’ eh?” to which Hermione shakes her head and sets the dish she’s just dried down onto the counter to rub her fingers together nervously— or at least rub her left fingers against still right ones, a habit she's not been able to rid herself of even though she can't feel or properly move her right hand at all.

“No, I simply— I—” but she doesn’t know _what_ to say. She blinks slowly and swallows.

A hand settles on her shoulder and applies the slightest bit of pressure. Not harsh, but reassuring. Much like the hand on her lower thigh had been. “Nothing to fret over, Hermione. Decades ago I _did_ use house-elves and never touched a dish to clean it. The house-elves went first, of course,” and she picks up with the washing again. Hermione follows suit, still listening. “Though it took longer for me to give up magically washing and drying our dishes. Ted, though, he was patient…”

The conversation drifts into silence until the last dish is put away and Hermione turns to rest her lower back against the counter, doing her best to release the tension that’s built up in her body. She watches as Andromeda cleans the table with some charms and suddenly says, “I’m… I never got the chance, or, well— I’m sorry for… for his loss. And your daughter. And… and Remus.” Andromeda looks up at her from her bent over position at the table, scrubbing her finger against the polished wood, and her lips twitch into a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I see you don’t mention my older sister,” the woman states.

Hermione flexes the fingers of her left hand and presses her lips into a thin line. “Do you wish I would?”

Andromeda comes closer, leaving only a few steps between the two of them, and eyes her with a rather intense, almost unreadable look. A mixture of Bellatrix and Narcissa, but without the ice of the younger sister or rage and madness of the older. Merely curious, surveying, studying. Slowly, she shakes her head. “I wouldn’t expect that of anyone, except for my other sister. We knew her before… before she was lost entirely. And I apologise... if you never wanted it to get out, what the _Prophet_ reported, but… I would think you mad, honestly, if you said one good word about Bellatrix. After what she did to you.” Andromeda glances down at her dead weight of a right hand for a moment but says nothing. Good. She doesn't want her pity.

“I’m actually surprised that you came this soon,” she finishes quietly.

Hermione’s eyes widen. “W-what do you mean, this soon? It’s been—”

“More than two years, I know. But I look so much like her, therefore I never thought I’d have the pleasure of meeting you, considering Harry was sure to let you know of the resemblance. I… I am glad that you’ve given me a chance, and I’m sorry that being here has been hard on you. ”

“You noticed?” and she bites her tongue as soon as she finishes, rolling her eyes at herself for speaking so quickly. “Of course you noticed. Your hand on my thigh. How did you know about grounding techniques?” It’s a Muggle thing, certainly— Madam Pomfrey certainly hadn’t known about it or utilised it in all her years at Hogwarts. Then it occurs to her, and Andromeda’s eyes soften at the apparent look of realisation on her face.

“Ted?”

Andromeda nods, and then as she opens her mouth to respond, the heavy sound of Harry’s footsteps are coming down the stairs. There’s a high squeal and peals of laughter, and the conversation is left behind as Hermione follows Andromeda into the sitting room where she finally gets to meet Teddy Lupin, who is absolutely the _most_ adorable little wizard _ever_.

* * *

“You sister… _contacted_ you?” Hermione asks, almost losing a bite of her biscuit to the crack between sofa cushions. She hurriedly pushes it back into her mouth and chews it up while watching Andromeda’s eyes rove over the parchment that a regal-looking owl had brought to the window. After meeting Andromeda for the first time a few months ago, the two of them have exchanged at least two or three owls a week with longer and longer letters, and as travel isn’t a problem for two witches, they’ve visited each others’ homes at least once if not more a week, sometimes looking up to find that hours have passed without either of them noticing. Hermione’s almost amazed at how increasingly well she’s been getting on with Andromeda, if it weren’t for the obvious explanation of how lovely and intriguing the other woman simply _is_. This week she’s on her third visit to the woman’s home, and Teddy has quickly taken to calling her Auntie Hermione. Or as close as he can get to pronouncing her name correctly.

The boy’s sitting in her lap currently, looking up at her and saying, “Read more? Auntie Hermeown?” She ruffles up his electric blue hair and presses a kiss to the crown of his head. She gives Andromeda a pointed look that says, _after he’s gone to bed for the night, we’re talking_ , and she’s met with a slight roll of the eyes. Yes, if there’s one thing Andromeda Tonks has learned, it’s exactly how _Gryffindor_ Hermione Granger can be. She’s not one in the same exact vein as Harry and Ronald or any of the Weasleys, but she’s a Gryffindor nonetheless, and Andromeda knows this by now. Accepts it, even welcomes it. She shouldn’t be surprised, because the witch had been happily married to a Hufflepuff before, but it’s still refreshing to see from a Slytherin.

“You’re a wonder, you know that, Hermione?” Andromeda murmurs as they settle back down on the sitting room’s sofa after putting Teddy to bed. Hermione hums and repositions herself so she’s laying down, her ankles and feet propped up on top of the opposite armrest while her head rests in Andromeda’s lap. Hermione blinks and looks into Andromeda’s impossibly warm brown eyes, so unlike the dark onyx of Bellatrix’s. She reaches her good hand up and trails a fingertip along the slightly rounded square jawline, watching as Andromeda gently shuts her eyes and lets out a soft breath.

When Hermione withdraws her hand, Andromeda opens her eyes again and a hand takes hold of her wrist, drawing it towards the witch’s lips where she presses a short kiss to the back of her hand. Hermione feels her heart stutter in her chest. “Wish someone had told me that coming to see you, talk to you, get to know you… I was my own worst enemy, holding onto a fear that I’d… I’d see you, and have a— a nervous breakdown or something. Or that you… well, you’re so unlike her in personality, and it’s…” she pauses, searching for the right words, “I feel better now. Like some weight’s been lifted? Not entirely, of course, but still something.”

“I’ve only been myself, Hermione, and you know that,” Andromeda tells her, allowing Hermione’s hand to fall back down. She rests it atop the non-functioning right one, just south of her navel, and shifts somewhat, getting more comfortable. She closes her eyes, feels _safe_ here. Something she thought she’d never feel when around a Black sister. One had tortured her, another had watched and done nothing, so despite the tales she’d heard of Andromeda Tonks, formerly Black, she’d worried herself to death that some other Black sister was out there, ready to hurt her in some new way.

But no, she’d been wrong, and though she has always _hated_ being wrong in the past, this time she’s so, so thankful for it. Happy to be proven wrong by the woman she’s currently resting her head upon. Andromeda is warm where her sisters were not. She has a wicked sense of humour, complemented brilliantly by her Slytherin resourcefulness and cunning. She is everything, Hermione believes, a good Slytherin _should be_. She’s determined, working her way up to a Head Healer position at St. Mungo’s, and she’s shown herself to be the most effortlessly, _genuinely_ charming witch Hermione’s had the pleasure to meet in her twenty-one years of living.

With her eyes still shut she murmurs, “And that’s what’s made it _work_ , Andy.” She’s long since started to call Andromeda by that nickname, one her sisters had given her, and one that she’s dearly missed. Something she’d admitted to Hermione on their second visit, the first taken without Harry by her side as she worked to become more comfortable not only around Andromeda, but Teddy Lupin as well. She knows she’s come so far from that apprehension, too, but found aid in Harry and Andromeda. “But you’re doing this on purpose, distracting me with your kind words—”

“But they’re _genuine_ ,” Andromeda says, a hint of a teasing whine to her voice. Hermione’s eyes pop open and she narrows them at the other witch.

“Don’t even _try_ to use that voice with me. Merlin, Andy—get on with it, Narcissa contacted you?” She watches as Andromeda licks her lips and appears to chew on the inside of her cheek, eyes blinking rather rapidly. In another instant, Hermione’s sitting up, resituating herself so her whole body’s angled towards the woman. She lifts her right arm to rest the hand on Andy’s shoulder, knowing that even if she can't feel it, Andy can, while the other still rather tentatively reaches out and grazes the other witch’s jawline with her fingertips. It does the job as Andromeda flicks her gaze towards her, though her head slightly ducks as she admits, “It’s not the first time, Hermione. I wasn’t sure about bringing her up to you. This was only the first time she’s brought up _visiting_. Here, of all places.”

“Of all places?” Hermione furrows her brow. “You have a lovely home, Andromeda.”

Andromeda reaches a hand up and grasps Hermione’s, tugging it down to hold it. She squeezes it and laughs a little. “Thank you, but it’s no lavish manor that Cissa’s grown accustomed to, even _if_ she’s telling the truth that they’ve had to downsize after she and Lucius lost the majority of their fortune after war reparations passed through.”

“If you’re speaking of Mal-Malfoy Manor,” she begins, inwardly cringing at the way she stammers over the name. Andromeda looks at her, eyes warm and understanding. They’d spoken more of what had occurred that late afternoon in April of 1998, and Hermione is still slightly embarrassed at her display of emotion, tears leaking from her eyes without her express permission like the buggery things they are. Even if Andromeda had assured her it was natural, she’d shaken her head and only cried harder. The hard set of Andy’s jaw as she’d locked eyes with her again hadn’t done her any good, considering how much she resembled Bellatrix, but—

_“Look at me, Hermione. My eyes. Are they hers?” Andy had implored._

_She forced herself to really look at the brown eyes before her. They weren’t hard, weren’t judging, hateful, or laced with any perverse desire to torture and maim. They were soft, softening still, warm, lighter, and full of compassion and care. She even saw a slight sheen in them, as if Andromeda was holding back tears._

_Hermione shook her head, her voice thick with emotion as she said, “No, they… they aren’t.”_

_“Good girl. Now describe them. Be detailed.”_

_And so she did, then followed Andromeda’s instructions to describe everything else that differed between the woman in front of her and her sister who had burned her image onto Hermione’s memory as she had covered her body with her own to inflict not only a cursed scar upon Hermione’s left forearm, but test a maiming curse she'd invented to Hermione's right hand after putting her through round after round after round of the Cruciatus curse. Throughout the process with Andy, she gradually calmed until she was told to focus on the varying degrees of pressure applied to the palm of her trembling hand by Andromeda’s fingers._

_“You’ve been so brave, Hermione Granger,” Andromeda said with a proud, yet somewhat pained smile. “I’m fortunate that you are, or we may have never met because of my elder sister. Now, let me go prepare some more vials for those tremors.”_

“I’m glad they left that place, even though I know it must have hurt Mr Malfoy, losing that ancestral home.” She stares down at her damaged hand that lays limply in her lap. Andromeda touches her back, rubbing her hand over Hermione’s robes.

“Truly a bloody wonder, you are.” Andromeda laughs quietly for a moment, then, “Thinking of how it must pain Lucius instead of considering the horror of what happened to you there. But no, Narcissa wrote to me that they were glad to be rid of it and all of the awful memories. It isn’t as if the Malfoy family lacks other properties to reside in.”

“How do you feel about Mrs Malfoy?” Hermione meets Andy’s eyes and her heart lurches in her chest. The older witch is gazing at her with such tenderness and it’s—gosh, she’s known that the House of Black is and likely has always been comprised of rather beautiful witches and wizards, but Andy, oh, she never spent over a decade in Azkaban like her cousin and sister, never sided with Voldemort, never stood or lived in his presence. She’d lost too much during both wars, yes, but her beauty was never marred by the constant presence of Dementors or involvement, peripheral or direct, with the Death Eaters. Narcissa Malfoy has regained much of her natural Black beauty and is a gorgeous witch in her own right—Lucius is an unfathomably lucky wizard to still have her as his wife, but she’s no Andromeda Tonks.

A small smile tugs at Andromeda’s lips, and she tucks some of her chestnut brown hair behind her ear. “I feel many emotions when it comes to Cissa,” she says. “She’s first and foremost always been my baby sister. I’ve always missed her, but told myself we’d never speak again, especially after she married into the Malfoy line. So I never contacted her first, however much I… well, Harry helped ease the—” Andy shuts her eyes for a second and grimaces. “That grief… well, you know.”

“I do, and I wish I’d—” Hermione’s cut off with a loose wave of Andromeda’s hand.

“Don’t, my dear. You had your own newfound grief and trauma to contend with. I would not have been a welcome sight at that point, and I’m _glad_ that you took time for yourself. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. A remarkable one, truly.”

“And a traumatized one, can’t forget that!” Hermione laughs, but stops at Andy’s hard look. “Er… I don’t parade the traumatized bit around. Just making light.” She gulps and ducks her head. “Sorry. Just…” Hermione lowers her voice, and it cracks as she admits, “Haven’t felt like I’ve had a good head on my shoulders, let alone a _remarkable_ one, since… this.” She looks at her non-functional hand, raising its dead weight, then rests it in her trembling left one. The potions from St. Mungo’s help with the tremors, but they’re not perfect. Andy’s experimented, made them work better, but they can only do so much. She’s resigned herself to that fact.

Andromeda takes both of Hermione's hands in hers and rubs them. “You’re so much more than this… these injuries, Hermione. You are so intelligent—yes, Harry told me about those perfect N.E.W.T.s you received—and so, so warm-hearted despite everything. You are captivating. And you are beautiful. These _hands_ are beautiful," she whispers, kissing both of them. “You are a _wonder_ , love.” Hermione cracks a small smile as Andy releases Hermione’s hands and then raises one of her own to Hermione’s somewhat tamed bushy brown hair. Every single time she interacts with this woman she’s proven more and more how unlike Bellatrix she is. She no longer has such terrifying nightmares plaguing her nights, and the dreamless sleep potions stick around for a much longer time.

“I’m not the only wonder around here, Andy,” she murmurs, leaning into the woman’s touch until palm meets the side of her head. Hermione’s heart swells at the somewhat bashful smile and dusting of pink that appears on Andy’s cheeks as she lightly scratches at Hermione’s head with her fingers.

* * *

“Teddy, come _here_!” Hermione whisper-shouts at the little wizard who really _shouldn’t_ still be in the throes of his terrible twos now that he’s actually three years old. In the past, he’s typically been anything _but_ an example of that phase, but she needs him to sit bloody well _still_ in the tub to properly prepare him for his first meeting with his only blood-related auntie. Harry’s off in the field for work, so she’d volunteered to take care of Teddy while Andromeda finishes the rest of the preparations for her younger sister’s visit.

Sitting still looks as if it’s going to be a major, if nigh impossible, achievement though, as the boy is currently running amok in the loo. Stark naked at that. She wants to pull her hair out of her head. Would it be _simple_ to cast a charm or two on him or give him a child’s dose of some potion equivalent to the Muggle NyQuil? Yes, it would, but _no_ , she is _not_ going to resort to that. Hermione Granger is _better_ than resorting to outside means to get a hold of a child, despite how ornery and obstinate said child is acting.

Teddy’s babbling some nonsense about water in between shrieks of “no!” and “don’t wanna!” until he—oh for Merlin’s sake, a display of accidental magic and he’s opened the locked door and is—is that the sound of the _Floo_?! Hermione darts up, running in the direction Teddy’s gone off in until she reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns only to find Narcissa Malfoy staring down at Teddy, who’s come up to her as she emerges from the Floo. She watches as the blonde witch blinks at the completely bloody starkers Teddy Lupin, who has clearly not learned yet that he shouldn’t be running about so. Hermione groans and scoops the boy up to rest on her left hip, wandlessly transfiguring a nearby forgettable object into a towel that she then charms to wrap about his waist, starting to profusely apologise to Mrs Malfoy when a gentle hand comes to rest on her shoulder, a presence just behind her.

“Boys— right, Cissa?” and Hermione jerks her head around so quickly, a blush rising from her neck to scatter across her cheeks. When has Andromeda snuck up on her and gotten so _close_? She blinks rapidly, then looks between the two Black sisters. Narcissa Malfoy actually smiles something genuine and nods before remarking that Draco had done the same, even _with_ house-elves to look after him. Hermione quickly excuses herself and takes Teddy back upstairs to actually finish his bath, taking one moment to stretch out her weary left arm from carrying him and exerting more of her magic than typical with that transfiguration and charm, since she couldn't hold her wand in her right hand. He’s back downstairs within fifteen minutes, and Hermione leaves the two sisters to catch up, content to watch over Teddy when Narcissa and Andy drift into conversations that should and do rightfully take up all of their attention. She forces herself to mostly tune their words out, though her curiosity doesn’t block all of it. Namely when she hears her name mentioned and feels eyes on her, studying her, but she restrains herself from looking back into either blue or warm brown eyes. It doesn’t seem as if they’re speaking of anything that important.

She’s sitting with Teddy on the sitting room floor after he’s said goodbye to his new Auntie Cissa. Andromeda is at the front door several meters away, and Hermione takes one glance to catch the two sisters embracing. Gods, does it melt her heart to see Andy rubbing her sister’s back and taking a few moments to pet Narcissa’s hair and press a kiss to her cheek. It's more than apparent that Narcissa's put in the work to earn this reconcilation, or at least what feels like an excellent start to it. She shifts her eyes back to Teddy but listens as the door shuts, listens as footsteps grow closer, and turns her head up as Andromeda stands over her. Without a word, Andy motions with a finger for Hermione to stand.

“You know what I didn’t miss about my baby sister?” Andromeda hums out, holding Hermione’s hands in her own and swinging them ever so slightly, taking care to brush her thumb against the right wrist, the point where she starts to feel her own skin again. Hermione tilts her head to the side and purses her lips, unsure exactly where this is going, but is ever so entranced by the way Andy is chewing on the edge of her lip. Andromeda laughs, lifting her chin a bit in the process. She lets go of one of Hermione’s hands and partially covers her eyes with her freed palm. “The instant,” she laughs out softly, “the _instant_ I let her back into my life, let her come here to visit, and she’s immediately off meddling in my personal life, telling me truths with that sly little smile of hers. It didn’t help that she saw you with Teddy down here, and she—”

“Merlin, Andy—I’m so sorry for not getting to him before she saw—”

Andromeda uncovers her eyes and places her hand on Hermione’s cheek. The hand stays eerily still as their eyes lock, and Hermione’s mouth has gone so, so dry. She really should excuse herself for a glass of water. But she licks her lips instead, then can’t quite muster the will to snap her jaw shut. Her lips stayed slightly parted and she simply breathes, unaware that she really had meant to finish her thought before.

She watches as Andromeda takes a shuddering breath. “No, Hermione, there’s no need to apologise. You handled yourself _so_ well—Narcissa, well, I’ll let her come to you about that when both of you are ready. But it was a rather happy accident, and honestly broke the ice between my sister and myself better than the two of us together ever could. But Cissa, she’s always been so very perceptive. We all had our own strengths, and hers…” She sighs and withdraws her hand. “You are very dear to me, Hermione.”

Hermione nods, not sure where this is going.

“It’s a wonder—no, not that you’re dear to me, but that we even… have a relationship.” She clears her throat and amends, “Or friendship. Friendship, right.” Hermione can’t remember Andromeda appearing so flustered before; it makes her want to tug her close and do something, anything, to get a laugh or a broad smile out of the other witch. Ease whatever’s going on in her head.

“Well, we’ve got Harry and Teddy to thank for that, haven’t we?” Hermione offers with a wry grin. She sticks her hands in the pockets of her robes, the right taking a bit more effort still to finagle in, and she misses the subtle flicker of a frown coming across Andromeda’s lips. The older woman agrees, and then the topic, whatever Andy was skirting around, is dropped in favour of Teddy announcing that he’s got to use the loo, or “have’ta go potty” as he describes it. Can’t have the little wizard lose any progress he’s made on the toilet-training front, even without Harry here to help.

* * *

For some reason, Andy begins to have a lot of work at St. Mungo’s, overtime she says. And when she’s not there, she’s telling Hermione she regrets it, but she hasn’t got time for her to come over now, which falls flat because she knows Harry’s been welcome over there. Hermione asks Harry about it and he shrugs, but that apologetic grin on his face says everything. After the fourth straight week of not seeing Andy and only getting the barest of responses to her owls, she manages to corner her friend at his flat. He’s eating takeout as she arrives by Floo, and he nearly chokes on his noodles, clapping a hand against his chest as he coughs.

“Oh Merlin, Harry, I’m sorry. I should have—”

He smiles through his coughing fit and once he’s got his breath back says, “No worries, Hermione. I’ll be fine. Now, what is it you’ve come over unannounced for? I’m here for you, y’know. Anything you need.”

“I know,” and she sits down beside him on his sofa, her left hand resting on her leg, gripping her knee. “Also, I know you’ve been going over to Andromeda’s more than I have these past few weeks. Definitely so, considering I haven’t been _at all_. Has Teddy… has he asked about me? I don’t want him to worry. It can be hurtful on a little one like that to suddenly have someone up and leave out of their life.” She swallows around a lump in her throat, something about what she’s said ringing a bell for herself as well, considering whatever is going on with Andy.

“Teddy’s fine, Hermione. Andromeda’s explained it as a trip you’re on for the time being.” Her heart stutters in her chest, and she stares slack-jawed at Harry. “Don’t ask me why she’s given him that excuse, but he’s all right.”

Hermione looks down at her tensed hand and gives a stiff nod. When she looks back up, it’s to see Harry scratching nervously at the nape of his neck. “Does this excuse include me coming back at any point?” she asks quietly, almost afraid to hear whatever answer her friend has for her, because she’s worried near to death that it _doesn’t_ include her returning, and she needs to know _why_. But if that were so, if she wasn’t mentioned to be returning— wouldn’t that make Teddy upset? She’d thought they’d gotten along rather well. She’d thought the same of her and Andromeda.

“Look, Hermione…” he cringes and stops at the deadly look she gives him. Of all the ways to start off some sort of bullshit explanation! Hermione feels like she’s flipped some sort of switch—she shouldn’t be asking Harry at this point, she should be apparating just near the Tonks’ residence and banging down the blasted witch’s door! But she pinches her nose and takes a few breaths to collect herself, then looks at Harry again. She vaguely notices a slight tremor of her wand hand and swears under her breath. She’d forgotten to take anything, and the previous dose is beginning to wear off.

Shrugging that concern off for the moment, she says, “Andy’s told you something. And I’m sorry to be crass about it, but spit it out. The truth, Harry.” Harry tugs at the hem of his robes and shares a small nod before he launches into it.

* * *

“Look, Andy, I’m sorry, but—” is all Harry’s able to get out before Hermione steps out of the Floo inside of the Tonks’ residence. Harry has the presence of mind to hurry out of the room with Teddy on his hip, promising stories and playtime in his room, before either witch says something to the other. Hermione flushes at the thought of Harry believing her capable of starting a row in front of a _child_ , but gathers herself and faces Andromeda, watching the way the woman stares almost blankly at her before shaking her head and sitting back down on the sofa.

Hermione rubs at the back of her head and takes a good look at the witch before her. “Don’t get cross with Harry, please, I practically made him take me to his Floo so I could… get closure. I won’t use his Floo again to ever come here if that’s what you desire, but I—you should know by now that I can’t just let things _go_ without proper explanation, Andromeda. And Teddy, I can’t believe you gave him that lie of me going on a _vacation_ , without even telling me. What if you’d run across me in Diagon with him?”

“I was scared!” Andromeda suddenly says, her voice sharp and pitched an octave higher than usual. Hermione flinches at how, in this moment, she sounds eerily like Bellatrix, and she notices the way Andromeda almost reaches out to her, swallowing thickly with a pained look crossing her face. She meets Hermione’s gaze and Hermione sees apprehension there, but she doesn’t understand why. She waits. “It’s— it’s only been less than four years since my Ted passed, the same for my daughter. I thought I would wind up… a lonely widow, raising my grandson alone. Then I’ve got Harry coming around, the Weasleys inviting me to the Burrow for holidays, a few other friends, then Narcissa starts coming back into my life slowly but surely, and then there’s… there’s _you_ , Hermione. Narcissa was one unexpected factor, but then you’re,” Andromeda gives a watery laugh, “you’re something else entirely.”

Hermione wants to sit down next to Andromeda, a far cry from what she wanted to do upon arriving here originally. She takes a couple of steps closer but stops, something telling her it’s not the right time yet to completely close the distance between them. Andromeda takes a handkerchief from within her robes and dabs at her eyes. “I know we talked about how, after the war… Merlin, even before then, many people were put off, even frightened, seeing me about in Wizarding society, their first thought that I was Bellatrix. So much that I eventually resorted to transfiguring my facial features if I went to Diagon or elsewhere in Wizarding Britain. My hair has never played well with straightening charms or products, so that was a lost cause. I even wound up making more trips into Muggle shops if it were only for food and other non-magical items.

“So, you see, that among other reasons is why you’re such a wonder to me, Hermione. Oh and I see you wanting to voice that you’re still not sure where this is going, to get to the point, and the point is: my sister. My meddlesome little sister came back to me, and the first bloody thing she puts her nose in? Our _friendship_. I’m certain you heard your name several times that evening,” to which Hermione nods, “but Cissa told me she cast a slight variation of _confundo_ on you so that you wouldn’t hear our exact conversation. The weight of it, that is.”

“You know, I wasn’t aware that you were so proficient at rambling, Andy.” She shares a tiny smile with the older witch, which Andromeda returns in kind, however strained it is.

Andy gets to her feet, and when she grabs hold of Hermione’s hands, it’s like a shot of electricity goes through her. She looks into warm brown eyes that rove over her face until a question from Andromeda hits her like a ton of lead.

“How did you feel during these weeks apart, Hermione?”

_Confused. Questioning. Frustrated. Angry. Like…_

“Like something was missing. Like some part of me was ripped away. I…” she hesitates, averting her eyes for a moment, “I missed you. More than I’ve missed anyone, besides my parents, and with them… it was a different sort of missing. Simply by being you, you’ve helped me in so many ways, and have endeared me to you in such a way that,” she clears the lump in her throat and squeezes Andy’s right hand with her left, “I simply couldn’t imagine my life without you in it.”

Andy looks at her like she truly is a wonder. Then swallows hard and softly says, “And there’s— there’s the proof of my fear. How can you… feel that way, when I look like…?” She gestures to herself. “I know that we’ve done so much to show that I’m not _her_ , but still, Hermione. You have every reason to— I worry that I’m ultimately not good for you, that I— I shouldn’t _feel_ ,” and her words become thick with emotion, “the things I do for you, when I can’t help but look so like the witch who tortured you, maimed you, and gave you those tremors in your hand.”

Hermione lets loose a breath she hasn’t known she’s been holding in, her fingers trembling. The woman in front of her is a revelation. She licks her lips, curling them inwards as she does, thinking carefully on how to respond to this beautiful, caring, phenomenal witch. She takes one step forward and looks directly into Andromeda’s eyes. “You’ve been nothing _but_ good for me, Andy. Save for this simple misunderstanding, that is. What you feel for me, _whatever_ it is, it’s wholly _yours_ , in no way connected to Bellatrix Lestrange. You’ve shown me that you’re not her, but have you shown that to _yourself_?

“All you share with her is your blood and looks, though even the looks are not the same, not truly. You’re Andromeda Tonks, born Andromeda Black. You loved a Muggle-born so much that you escaped from whatever life a pure-blood arranged marriage would have had in store for you. You took your life into your own hands, you broke _free_ from whatever life your family had planned for you. Please, Andy, free _yourself_ from these fears. They’re so bloody unfounded. I— I care so much about you. About Teddy. I want back in your life. _Please_ , Andy.” And she feels her hand trembling more, growing worse, but she shoves it into her pocket and doesn’t break the stare she’s holding with Andromeda.

She watches as Andromeda’s eyes shimmer, then takes a sharp breath in as the other witch comes closer. Her breath quickens as she notices the pupils before her darken even more—how had she not already noticed the way they’d expanded? And she watches as Andy closes her eyes, whispering, “Gods… I think—no, I _know_ I want to kiss you, Hermione Granger. If you…” her eyelids partially flutter open, causing Hermione’s heart to lurch, “That is, if you want to, as well?”

Hermione licks her lips and gives a short nod. “I… yes.” It’s not what she wants to say, but somehow Andromeda has rendered her speechless. Andromeda moves her hands, one reaching around to place itself around the back of her neck, the other resting on Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione exhales softly and wraps her arms around Andromeda, cataloguing again all the ways she is not her older sister—the brown eyes filled with such tenderness, love, understanding; the beautiful shape of her rounded yet still angular jaw; and those lips, coming closer as their heads tilt… those lips she wants to stare at, lips that have only spoken kindnesses to her, lips she—oh, and then Andromeda presses those lips to hers.

Hermione hums pleasantly into the feeling of Andy’s lips on her, the sensation warming her entire body, sending a buzz straight through her. Andromeda smiles against her, pulling her even closer. The hand that was on her shoulder now roams through the back of her hair, and they move slowly, exploring, until Hermione takes a breath and feeling adventurous, grazes her teeth across Andy’s lower lip, then bites as softly as she can, soothing with her tongue right after. Andy gasps at the sensation, and Hermione’s just about to entertain exploring the inside of the other woman’s mouth when someone clears their throat.

They break apart, and Hermione wipes the saliva she knows is hanging around her lips, almost motioning for Andy to do the same before she notices that the woman’s lips look like she _hasn’t_ just been kissing Hermione. Andy only shrugs and gives her a quick wink before turning to Harry, a deep flush to his skin as he scratches awkwardly at his already unruly hair. At least he has the decency to look as if he truly has walked in on something he shouldn’t have, but what’s done is done, and at least now neither of them has to tell him.

“Er, Teddy’s playing with his Hogwarts Express miniature, and I’d stay, but I’ve got something I’m doing this evening. Assume it’s all right if I leave Hermione here?” He coughs pointedly and stares at Andromeda who blinks at him, taken aback. Hermione grabs hold of Andy’s hand and tugs at it with trembling fingers, hardly suppressing a giggle at the way Andy turns to look at her, eyes widening. Oh, she doesn’t think they’re going to—

“We can go play with Teddy some, maybe have dinner together with him in a little while?” she says as an assurance that she’s not looking for anything _more_ tonight. They haven’t even had their first proper date! But she already knows she’s going to be teasing the hell out of Andy for her mind going to the gutter so swiftly. Perhaps they could… do something about that sometime soon, within the first few dates, if she’s so quick to presume. Not _exactly_ what may have gone through Andy’s head, but… Hermione has ideas flurry to her like a herd of rampaging Hippogriffs.

* * *

“Mrs Malfoy, I feel I owe you my thanks,” Hermione says. Narcissa looks up from the Wizarding photograph album she’s looking through, something Andromeda has shared while preparations for Yule dinner are finished. It’s taken several months for Andy to get the muster up and pull the album out to show Narcissa, but she finally has. It has over two decades' worth of memories of the Tonks’ family: images of Ted, Andy, and Nymphadora throughout the seventies, eighties, and seven years’ worth of the nineties. Narcissa’s finger pauses on one of the photographs.

“Whatever for, Miss Granger?”

She studies Narcissa’s face for a moment, still almost as unreadable as ever, but Andromeda’s let her in on at least a few of her younger sister’s tells. The slightest pursing of lips, the fractional raising of sculpted eyebrows and the like. Hermione smiles openly, knowing full well how disarming to other people it can be, and she’s right. Narcissa’s face opens a little more to her. It helps that they’ve hashed out what occurred at the Manor a few years prior, sorted it over the course of a few weeks, mediated by Andromeda. It helps that she no longer speaks any ill of Muggles or Muggle-borns, and is working on completely rooting out the word _mudblood_ from her vocabulary. The witch is trying, and Hermione notices.

Hermione leans her elbow on an armrest, resting her head in the palm of her hand. “For rather intentionally setting Andy and I on this course. You may have meant it only to be meddlesome,”—at this, Narcissa exhales a soft huff and sniffs—“but whatever your reasoning was, Andromeda’s happy. And I am, too, of course— but she’s your sister. So… thank you. I appreciate it.”

“ _We_ appreciate it,” Andy chimes in, and Hermione turns in her seat to catch her girlfriend grinning over at Narcissa before she leans down and captures Hermione’s lips in a sweet kiss. Hermione giggles into it and after they pull apart, she hears Narcissa quietly clearing her throat. When she turns to look at the blonde, she swears she must have seen the tail-end of Narcissa Malfoy rolling her eyes, much like she’s seen Draco do over the years, but she can’t know for sure.

“Of course I was meddling, but I only did so because it wouldn’t kill Andromeda to find someone to be with, once she was comfortable with the reality of it. And,” she looks decisively between the both of them, “Andy has always been rather easy to read when it comes to who she fancies. You were extremely fortunate that our sister was too… _involved_ with her own life to notice before, during our years at Hogwarts. But I digress—shall we eat? If you are in here, Andy, the meal must be ready.”

Andromeda covers her hand with her mouth as she chuckles, then with a movement from her wand, a faint bell is heard upstairs. Harry soon appears with both Draco and Teddy, the latter of whom is sat upon Draco’s hip this time. It’s December now, months since she and Andy started dating, over a year since she first met the witch, and during these last few months Narcissa’s brought Teddy’s cousin along several times, introducing the Malfoy heir to the little metamorphmagus wizard. Lucius is still “a work in progress,” Narcissa’s explained, and so he’s stayed at the manor this year. Hermione smiles at the sight of Draco with Teddy, though, and watches as Narcissa looks on fondly at her son. She’d never expected herself to end up here this Yuletide with these people, but… she finds she rather likes it. Christmas is still to come with her parents, but this is a welcome addition.

Sitting next to Andy now is second-nature, and the hand on her thigh has steadily moved upwards over the weeks and months. Still as comforting, as reassuring as ever tonight. She breathes easy, and whenever the slight tremors come to her hand, Andy holds her as steady as can be. Her girlfriend does so tonight, taking hold of the hand when it might threaten to toss her food from a shaking utensil, and also rubs the hand with her right during moments of rest, and the motions run her anxiety back into the far corners of her mind. They eat, they drink, and they burn a Yule log as they exchange gifts with each other after the meal concludes. Andy hands her a small package, and when she opens it she withdraws a necklace with a small pendant attached to it. There’s… some sort of liquid inside that resembles the colour of the ocean during the latter portion of a sunset. She shifts her eyes to Andy and asks the question with only an inquisitive raise of her eyebrow.

“It’s… essentially a potion set to partial stasis, amplified by the properties of the crystal it’s held within so that one doesn’t need to drink it.” She casts a glance around, but thankfully only Narcissa has been looking at them; Harry and Draco are exchanging gifts, and Teddy is too busy with his new toys to make any remark about the necklace. Andy sends Narcissa a knowing look to which the blonde witch ever so slightly shrugs her shoulders and goes back to taking photographs of the three boys. When they’ve been left somewhat alone, Andromeda leans in closer and whispers next to Hermione’s ear, “I will tell you everything later, love. Including sharing another gift with you that I think we’ll both enjoy. For now…”

Oh, how she simply _adores_ the bright smile that graces Andromeda’s face when she opens up Hermione’s gift. Over the past year, she’s picked up on physical mementoes of Ted that Andy has saved and shared with Hermione while reminiscing fondly of him. She hadn’t been entirely sure if it was her place to take the originals and do something with them, so instead she had duplicated each one and placed them in an hourglass that she transfigured—with a little help and further inspiration from Luna Lovegood—to emphasise its infinity shape before flattening it. She notices tears forming in Andromeda’s eyes and gently comforts her, placing her right arm around the older woman and pulling her close with a bit of effort from her forearm while she places her other hand on one of Andy’s that’s holding onto the flattened hourglass filled with several pressed bits of various plants and leaves, each a copy of ones saved from her and Ted Tonks’ most meaningful dates and outings. The man had held a fondness for Herbology.

“Oh, my darling…” Andromeda whispers, breath warm against Hermione’s neck. “That you more than understand Ted’s importance in my life… you have no idea how much this means to me.” Hermione doesn’t have the words to properly respond, but she presses a kiss to Andy’s cheek as the woman pulls back. Sometime later she finds herself resting against a wall in the foyer as Andy says goodnight to her sister, who has graciously offered to watch Teddy for the rest of the night to give them “a much-needed break.” Hermione doesn’t say anything about it, but notices the teasing look Narcissa throws Andromeda. Taunting, almost. Or daring. It’s not something she sees often at all from the youngest Black sister, and it makes her realise that Narcissa’s done it on _purpose_.

* * *

She’s gingerly fondling the pendant attached to her necklace as the water turns off in the adjoining bathroom. There’s some sort of warmth radiating from the crystal, the potion held inside, or both, and her magic is growing attuned to it despite only wearing it for a couple of hours now. The ocean’s sunset colour within the crystal keeps her transfixed until the sound of padding bare footsteps grow closer until Andromeda emerges from the bathroom, clad in only a towel wrapped around her body, her hair still slightly dampened from the shower.

Breathtaking. That’s all that manages to run through Hermione’s mind until it short-circuits, and she’s left staring rather dumbly up at the woman who’s crossed the room to stand right in front of her as she sits on the edge of the bed. A hand reaches out and taps the underside of her chin until she’s pushed back into some sort of consciousness and snaps her jaw shut, cheeks blazing with a rush of heat. Andromeda’s giving her a sly grin and leans over just enough to press a lingering kiss to Hermione’s forehead after brushing aside her fringe.

“The shower is free, love,” her girlfriend says with an air of nonchalance that sends a shiver down Hermione’s spine. “But I haven’t yet told you everything about that pendant you were holding, if you’d like to know more?”

Hermione sputters, only now noticing that she’d let go of the pendant at some point. “If I’d _like_ to _know more_? Merlin, Andy, do I need to ask you something only you’d know? Make sure this is you?” The other witch smiles and kneels in front of her, towel now only loosely hanging around her as she places her hands on Hermione’s knees, her grin turning coy, Cheshire-like. It sends a pleasant warmth through her, settling in her lower abdomen as a most discerning ache that she knows will soon beg for release if they keep going this direction. Or rather, if Andromeda keeps looking at her like this, _touching_ her like this.

“I can think of another way for you to find out that I am myself, if,”—and Hermione’s breath hitches as Andy splays her fingers across the expanse of her lower thighs, tapping suggestively as her touch ascends, sending Hermione’s legs to spread somewhat in spite of the semblance of control she’s trying to retain—“you are _up_ for it, my love.” Andromeda’s gaze is dark, heady, filled with a growing desire that Hermione is sure is mirrored in her own eyes. She’s also sure that her knickers are wet with her arousal, and it’s not as if she is wearing anything besides them and a plain shirt without a bra on underneath. She _has_ been waiting for the shower, and she’s almost wishing now that she had joined her. But—

“Oh _god_ ,” she moans softly, leaning back a bit on the mattress, her arms stretched out behind her, the fingers of her left hand grasping onto the sheets. “Andy— fuck, were you thinking about this while you bathed? Because you… this is something else. Welcomed, of course, but holy—” her whole body trembles as Andromeda grazes blunt nails on her inner thighs, travelling closer to her centre. “Holy _shit_.”

Andromeda removes her hands and hums. “I may have become so lost in my thoughts that I neglected to properly soap up and shampoo. Might have only rinsed myself with water while I…” and the hands return, one caressing Hermione’s unmarred forearm while the other teases at the edge of her clothed sex. “Fantasised about you. Terribly unfortunate that you were out here when you could have been in there with me.” Hermione whimpers at the husky tone Andy’s voice has taken on, and she lets herself eye the witch up and down, licking her lips.

“How is that towel staying on y—” she begins but is cut off by her cry as Andromeda slides the pads of her fingers over her covered folds. She shifts forward, seeking a friction that evades her. Andromeda smirks, something fond and warm in it, nothing like her deceased sister at all, and then with a movement from her other hand over the towel, it slides off onto the floor and oh god oh Merlin she’s never going to get used to how bloody beautiful this witch is. The gentle swell of full breasts, the soft curves of her body, and each sparse scar tells a story that only increases her love for the other woman.

“Perhaps we can rectify that little error in here? Give you a chance to recover _partial credit_?” Andy drawls out as she stands to her full height, then suddenly she’s gently pushed back onto the bed by the woman’s palm against her covered breastbone. Or, previously covered breastbone, because the instant Andromeda’s hand touches the fabric, the shirt is banished to their laundry bin, presumably. Hermione stares up at her, completely conscious of the way her breath has been forced out of her, but more importantly how Andy is surveying her mostly nude form with ravenous eyes roving over her. She gets on the bed, straddling Hermione and casting a sore, almost offended look at the red knickers before she tucks her hand to cup her over the fabric.

And then suddenly, yet again, another article of clothing is banished from her body, but it’s so much _more_. So much more sensation, from the hand and fingers against her clothed sex to Andromeda touching her heated skin _directly_.

“My, my, if I thought you were delightfully wet before through fabric…” Andromeda traces her fingers through slick folds, teasing her. “You’ve proven me wrong, love. You’re _soaking_ for me.” Hermione whines at the contact that’s not enough, nowhere near enough, until Andromeda leans further in and captures her lips in a heated kiss while her free hand cups one of Hermione’s breasts, squeezing gently before rolling her thumb over a hardened nipple. Hermione arches up, seeking more contact, wanting more upon more upon _more_ , and she groans as her untouched breast makes contact with one of Andy’s, which results in Andromeda nipping at her lower lip, drawing it outward before releasing.

Hermione’s hands have moved from lying on the sheets to thoroughly wrapped around Andromeda’s waist, the left applying pressure to Andy’s side, though she does nothing to restrain those arms. There’s that hand that’s still gathering wetness from her inner lips, still never touching her clit that’s grown almost agonisingly needy, matching the heightened beating of her heart. And then Andromeda’s other hand moves to entangle itself in Hermione’s hair, alternating between running her fingers through it and tugging because she knows by now that Hermione fucking _lives_ for that. It’s not enough to truly cause her pain, but it hurts _just_ enough to increase her arousal, causing fresh wetness to spill forth from her core.

She scratches at Andy’s lower back with her good hand, torn between crying out for Andy to bloody well do _more_ than just tease and simply flipping the woman over to take some control back. Andromeda’s strong, yes, but when she’s distracted… Yeah, she goes for the latter option, ducking her head slightly to plant her lips around a rather sensitive part of the older witch’s jawline, sucking hard enough to cause Andromeda’s hips to stutter as she gasps out. There. She doesn’t even soothe it yet, but takes her chance to switch their positioning until Andy’s blinking up at her, pupils blown wide and jaw slack as she breathes heavily, her chest heaving. They’re both going to need a shower after this.

She mumbles a quick apology for leaving the mark she’s made a tad too long, then gets to work soothing it with her tongue, casting on herself to imbue her saliva with something that will drive Andy just a tad… ah. The woman shudders beneath her, and Hermione practically lays on top of her as she takes her left hand, which has been cupping the side of Andromeda’s head, moving it to go past tamed, short brown hair and into wet folds just as even more slick spills from her lover. She licks at the spot on Andy’s jawline a few more times before raising her head, meeting darkened eyes that look at her like she’s something truly special. And she believes it, coming from this woman.

Hermione lays her head in the crook of Andromeda’s neck, resting her right arm around Andy’s head as Andy undulates against her other hand while Hermione’s fingers circle around the woman’s swollen clit. She groans, asks for _more_ , then suddenly stills. Hermione stalls her movements, lifts her head to meet Andy’s eyes, just about to ask what’s wrong when a small gift bag comes flying into one of her girlfriend’s hands. Wandless and wordless magic in the middle of sex. Right. She should be used to it by now. She watches, though, as Andromeda ever so unceremoniously tips the bag over and out falls…

 _Oh._ Phallic in nature, ever so slightly curved for pleasure— there is no doubt for error as to what she’s seeing. She would almost mistake it for a Muggle strap-on, if not for the… clear lack of _strap_. But Andy takes hold of the girth of it and then looks back at her, an unvoiced question in her gaze. She…

“Is it magical?” Hermione asks.

Andromeda licks her lips and nods. “We don’t have to use it if you don’t want, but… the base attaches to a witch’s sex and stimulates the clitoris. You’ll _feel_ yourself inside of me like it’s—like it’s your own appendage. If you don’t want to do it, I understand—”

“This isn’t you wishing I was…?” she cringes, trailing off, not sure where this sudden burst of inadequacy has come from, but. Andromeda quickly lays the object aside on the mattress and reaches to cup her cheeks, smiling as tears prick at her eyes. They’re so close Hermione can clearly see them, no mistake about it.

“Oh no, no, no, no, _no_ , my darling, my beautiful Hermione,” Andy reassures, stroking her cheekbones. “Oh you must _never_ think I would desire that. I would love you no matter what; I love you as you are right now. It’s merely… another avenue of pleasure. For you and for me. Something new to try. Your fingers, your _tongue_ , are more than enough, but I just—” She doesn’t get to finish. Hermione surges forward, pressing a strong, reckless kiss to her lips that has their teeth clacking together for a moment. Laughter escapes her during the contact and then Andy starts chuckling as well until Hermione pulls away, brushing stray strands of hair out of Andromeda’s face.

“Let’s try it then, shall we? I’m all for embracing new methods of giving and deriving pleasure with my favourite student—”

Andromeda’s laughter begins anew and between breaths she sputters out, “Student? Merlin, no, that’s _you_. I’m the teacher here, love.” Hermione rolls her eyes but acquiesces for the time being, though she leans down to whisper, “We _switch_ , Andy love,” before taking her functioning hand away from Andy for a moment.

She sits up, grabbing hold of the phallic instrument, having relatively little issue positioning it on herself. She gasps as Andromeda aids her in getting it _just_ right, though, as it settles and _sticks_ to her, the sensation of it attaching, _merging,_ with her own sex nearly making her come on the spot. Ah. How embarrassing to happen so soon. She flushes deeply, but then Andy tells her it’s expected the first time, actually _needed_ to fully complete the merging, and finishes her explanation with, “Come for me, love.” She trembles as she allows herself to then, lets it wash over her, near delirious at the sight of Andy still underneath her, watching through half-lidded eyes.

“The next time had better be inside me,” Andy hisses out, but it’s without anger of any sort. Only a challenge, her eyes sparking with desire, and then her girlfriend’s hands are on the appendage, rubbing it, rubbing _her_. Oh god she _feels_ it, feels it like it’s actually, truly a bloody _part_ of her. Her hips jerk upwards, and she whines at the teasing contact—it’s almost as bad as Andy neglecting to pay attention to her clit earlier.

Hermione ducks her head and watches as Andy lightly drums her fingertips on the shaft, then cries out in need as hands grasp it—grasp _her_. “Andy… if you want me to follow through on that…” She clenches her jaw and slightly resituates herself, glancing up into those warm eyes before using one finger—no, two—to gather copious wetness from her witch to begin the process of readying her for the magical toy. When her fingers enter her it’s so _easy_ , and her mind— no matter how many times they've already made love— reels from the fact that _she’s_ done this to Andromeda. She’s the one turning her on so much that it’s not even a trouble to insert two fingers, then three, slowly pumping them inside of Andy.

She lightly bites down on her lip as Andromeda calls out her name softly, almost like a chant, until Hermione hits that spongy area just inside her by curling her fingers, sliding against it. Merlin, she’s glad for silencing charms even if the house _is_ empty, because the way Andy nearly screams her name she wouldn’t be surprised if without the charm that the neighbours might hear. And while she might have a _slight_ fetish for the notion, the danger in the possibility of being caught by someone else, this exact scenario is brand-new and she… well, the silencing charm does its job well.

“Please, Hermione…” Andromeda pants out, opening her eyes to look at her. They're almost wild in their desire. “Need you. _Need_ you. Oh god.” Hermione somewhat obliges, adjusting herself and pushing the… Merlin, there’s no other name for it, is there, but a magical cock or shaft? She rests the tip just inside Andy’s folds, moving it about in an oblong circle to collect and coat the shaft with wetness. Andy’s grasping the sheets with such force that her knuckles have turned white, and Hermione could simply keep this position, taking in her love, if not for Andy pressing against the shaft with such need.

“How do you need me, Andy?” Hermione inquires despite knowing full well. Andy takes a hand away from the sheets, placing it against Hermione’s cheek. She watches those eyelids flutter, the strain of her jaw tensing, and her heart blooms in her chest as Andy breathes out, full and clear, the desire so evident in her voice, “ _Fuck me_ , Hermione. _Please_.” Oh and she can’t deny this woman writhing beneath her, sweat shining on bare skin, so absolutely wanton for her that it should be illegal.

She obliges Andromeda, slowly slipping inside of her with the appendage that’s magically melded itself to her sex. Her eyes squeeze shut at how Andy fits around her so snugly, because Merlin, she can’t even deny to herself how the toy has completely melded to her mind, her nerves, _everywhere_. The wet heat enveloping her pulls a strangled groan from her throat as she presses further in, inch by slow inch, until she’s filled Andy and her hips are right up against the other woman. Panting, she revels in the noises she’s bringing forth from Andromeda, the witch begging for her to _move_ once she's adjusted to the shaft inside of her.

Hermione gasps as suddenly inner walls clench down on her, and she shudders at the way Andy fits so bloody _perfect_. “Oh fuck, that’s unfair, love,” she says, every word punctuated with Hermione slowly slipping out of her inch by inch. It’s a struggle, but seeing Andromeda’s needy face, then a whine at the loss of Hermione filling her… makes it worth it. At least for a few moments until Andy sits up and moves towards the headboard. Hermione sits up on her knees, glancing down at the cock that is yet simultaneously isn’t hers as it twitches. Oh fuck she feels it, an ache to enter, to be enveloped again by wet heat, to be bloody well properly _milked_ by walls clenching around her.

She hears Andy’s groan before she shifts her eyes back over to her, finding the woman’s fingers trailing around her now copious wetness. The cock throbs, and Hermione moves over, watching, desperately wanting to enter the other witch again, but by the way Andy is staring at her… Merlin, she’s no longer in control. She reaches for the cock with her left hand, intending to pleasure herself like Andy is, but Andromeda reaches out with her free hand and stops her.

“Switch places with me,” Andy states, withdrawing her hand from her centre. Hermione runs her tongue over her lower lip and can only nod, moving into the space that Andromeda vacates, her back resting against the headboard. Oh. Andromeda’s applied a cushioning charm to it so it’s not so rough. Merlin, her witch is thoughtful even as she’s eyeing her intently, as if _daring_ Hermione to disobey and try and wrap her hand around her hard cock. Hermione presses her lips together and grasps the sheets instead to stay herself from temptation.

She watches instead as Andy sits on her spread knees between Hermione’s legs and coats her fingers in her arousal and stretches herself again, one to two to three fingers, tilting her head back as she gently thrusts into her entrance, soft pants taunting Hermione. Her hips jerk upward at the sight, wanting so desperately to be the one in Andromeda instead of those fingers. But she’d been the one to pull out in the first place, though it’d only been because Andy had clamped down on her too bloody soon! Hermione can’t help the whimper that falls out of her mouth, and Andromeda lolls her head forward, finally looking at her, then towards the twitching shaft.

“Oh love, you _need_ this, don’t you?” Andy plays with her, pulling her fingers out of herself as she comes closer. She straddles her, licks some of her own fluids from her fingertips, then guides them to Hermione’s mouth. “Open,” is all it takes—she follows instructions perfectly and is rewarded with the taste of the older witch as she rolls her tongue around Andy’s fingers, gathering the slick that’s there.

“Andy…” she breathes out as the fingers are withdrawn. “Andy, please.”

Andromeda smiles and tucks her face into the crook of Hermione’s neck as she comes closer, sitting on her knees right against Hermione's hips. The cock twitches against the plane of Andy's stomach, then she raises herself just enough to rest her hands on the headboard, gripping it on either side of Hermione’s body as she moves her head back, ducking it to accurately position herself above the tip of the hard, straining sex toy. Hermione meets warm brown eyes blown dark as night, gasping as Andromeda lowers herself onto the cock, filling herself with it, inch by bloody agonising inch. “Don’t thrust,” Andy commands, her tone stern but filled with lustful adoration as Hermione struggles but manages to comply with the instruction. Andy lifts slightly, moaning, and Hermione rests back against the headboard, breaths coming heavy at the rhythm Andromeda is setting.

A few minutes later, one hand now resting on Hermione’s shoulder, Andromeda leans forward on one particular downstroke and meets Hermione’s lips in a searing, bruising kiss. She stays, filled up entirely by the shaft, and Hermione fights to not move her hips as Andy seeks entrance into her mouth. She slackens her jaw, letting the woman in, and their breaths mingle as Andy rises again, breaking the kiss just as she nearly pulls entirely out of Hermione. Their eyes meet, Hermione massaging Andy’s clit with her left hand, and Andromeda takes a moment to release a hand from its grip on the headboard, moving it to stroke through Hermione’s curls, resting their foreheads together as she murmurs, “I love you so much, you absolute wonder of a witch.”

She can’t even say anything in return because it’s cut off by a strangled cry as Andromeda suddenly lowers herself, and Hermione’s fully sheathed inside of her again. She’s felt Andy getting closer and closer to release, inner walls fluttering, teasing the cock, teasing _Hermione_ , and utilising the headboard for leverage once more to rise, on the final fall Andromeda’s walls clamp down tightly around Hermione’s temporary cock as Andy moans her name, falling over the edge into release while she continues to use her good hand to rub Andy’s clit.

“Thrust, love, come for me,” Andy says in between panting breaths as she comes down from her orgasm, “You’ve permission. Come inside me.” Hermione groans, finally jerking her hips after they both resituate themselves for easier thrusting, moving at an ever-quickening pace as her arousal gathers deep in her abdomen. The obscenely wet sound of Andy’s sex causes the sensation in Hermione to coil further and further until it pulls taut before breaking apart, shattering, and her hips shudder as she comes, and _holy hell_ it’s unlike anything she’s felt before. She knows this cock can’t get Andromeda pregnant, knows they’d need further aid for that to happen, but she still feels it intimately as strings of come release inside of Andy, coating her walls. None of it viable, she’s sure, but she still—

“It’s part of the toy, darling,” Andromeda reassures her. “Tested and safe. Mimics, oh _fuck_ —” they both give a sharp gasp as Hermione thrusts again due to Andromeda clenching around her once more, releasing another string of come inside— “Mimics a cock exactly except in full appearance and viability,” she finishes, sighing blissfully as she drops her forehead to rest upon Hermione’s shoulder. And Hermione would _love_ to stay like this, but—

“Andy, sweetheart,” she murmurs, “let’s lie down properly.” Andy makes a motion with her head against Hermione’s shoulder, likely an attempt at a nod. Gods, they’re both worn out, but Andy pushes herself back, completely removing the shaft from within herself, then lays down next to Hermione. She then reaches down, takes hold of the base of the appendage, gingerly removing it from Hermione’s sex. Hermione clenches her jaw, eyes pressed shut at the sensation, and, “Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ ” she wasn’t aware she’d anything left, but she arches her back, comes again, and bloody well _squirts_ as soon as the shaft is fully removed. Which, honestly, doesn’t happen _that_ often to her, but when it does…

The other witch chuckles. “ _Surprise_ , love,” she slowly says with a coy smile. “Couldn’t let you know _everything_ about the toy and ruin that last bit of fun, could I?” Hermione fully collapses on the bed then, tugging Andromeda to her.

“Merlin, do I love you so, but that was one hell of a distraction from this,” she says, holding the pendant up. “Tell me about it. Please.” Now that the thing’s free from the slight sticking charm she’d applied to it in a moment of clarity during sex, Andy eyes it and brings her hands up to run through Hermione’s hair, pushing forward to kiss Hermione again. Hermione chastely returns it but raises the pendant again, this time between their faces. “Tell me.”

Andy takes the crystal filled with potion in her hand, gently cupping it in her palms. “I actually _was_ working some overtime… for this, mostly. It’s to further aid in prevention of your tremors, simply put. Typically, we have to orally ingest potions, but my colleagues and I have been researching other methods, and this is… one of the tested, working, and safe prototypes. The crystal not only amplifies the potion’s effects, but it gradually releases the potion into your skin, a more direct route into your veins from there, and the potion is vastly strengthened, too, so it can fit into the pendant and last for a month or more. No one else need know what it’s for, and you no longer need to carry around several vials to put a stop to the tremors. I would do something for your other hand, but...” she trails off. Magical injury, too far gone, even worse than the cursed mudblood scar she’s managed to quell. It’s permanent, the injury to her right hand. Hermione’s accepted that, only glad that Bellatrix hadn’t known or in madness had forgotten that her dominant hand is her left, not her right. But this?

She… is speechless. Utterly without words. That something so beautiful can take the place of her stockpile of vials, that without fail someone nearly _always_ asks about when she has to take one out of her robes and drink it? She—oh god, there’s tears gathering in her eyes, happy ones, but still. Her shoulders shake at the dawning realisations passing over her mind; this is too good to be true, it has to be, but it isn’t. It’s real. She feels it in her magic. She holds Andromeda to her like a lifeline keeping her from drowning, and the other woman strengthens the grip she has on her.

“I can never thank you enough for this, Andromeda,” Hermione murmurs through her tears. “But thank you. _Thank you_. It means the world.” Andy rubs her back in soothing motions, and they both are silent for several moments, only basking in each other’s presence. Then, Hermione pulls away, brings her left hand up to her face, watching for any sign of trembling. She realises that her fingers hadn’t trembled once during sex, the first time that’s ever happened.

“Enough proof for you that it works?” Andy asks teasingly before bringing Hermione’s hands to her mouth, kissing the backs of both before moving onto the individual fingers, pressing her lips to each one, taking a moment between hands to gaze tenderly at Hermione. She breathes out a small _yes_ , so glad that despite the lack of feeling or functionality in her right hand, Andy doesn’t shy away from still giving it attention, and once Andy’s finished, Hermione takes her hands and cups Andromeda’s cheeks, meeting the woman’s lips with her own. The right hand more or less lays awkwardly against Andy’s cheek, like the dead weight of a statue, but that’s all right. She’d stay like this forever if it were possible, but after a bit she realises she’s got something to bring up.

“That shower…” Hermione starts, but is paused by Andromeda’s finger on her lips. Andy gives her a mischievous look and subtly shakes her head.

“Let’s sleep for now, hm? Tomorrow morning, though…” she pauses, raising her eyebrows. “Cissa didn’t say when she was going to bring Teddy back, but it would serve her right to put Teddy in his playroom and come searching for us, only to perhaps… _hear_ certain things. Scandalous things.” Hermione covers her mouth as she bursts out laughing, so glad that she’s an only child. The sheer meddling and teasing and now playfully getting “back” at Narcissa for this, while indulging in the possibility of well and truly being _caught_ —

Hermione turns to lay on her back, laying her right arm across her forehead as she giggles out, “Well, she _is_ the one who basically brought us together. Perhaps she does deserve it, hear some of the _fruits_ of her efforts. Just the once, though, and we’ll try to limit the potential for scarring. Note that I say _try_ , and you can take that however you wish, you bloody cunning Slytherin.”

“You love me for it,” Andromeda purrs, turning on her side and curling into her, resting an arm over Hermione’s stomach. Hermione removes her arm from her forehead, wandlessly whispering a charm to plump up their pillows before placing her left hand in Andy’s as it rests at her side. The other arm wraps around Andy’s shoulders, resting on the curve joining shoulder to arm.

She plays with Andromeda’s fingers before pulling their hands towards her mouth, kissing the back of Andy’s. Then, sliding her gaze toward the other witch, she murmurs into the skin of the hand, “Of course I do. How could I not love everything about you?” And it’s there, in between the lines, the assurance that despite her resemblance to her older sister, Hermione loves every single bit of her because she’s _Andromeda_ , and even the resemblances fall apart with that very fact. Her sister is in her past, while Andy is her present and future and the witch that she loves with her entire heart.

“My absolute wonder of a witch, you are,” Andromeda whispers, shifting until she’s partially laying on top of Hermione, trailing fingers up and down Hermione’s bare skin. With a pleasant shiver, Hermione kisses her girlfriend before turning to face away from her. Not because she doesn’t want to look at her—gods, she wants to all the time—but to give Andy what she wants nearly every night. It’s a comfort, Andromeda spooning her, breasts pressed against her bare back, arms wrapped around her, warm breath against her neck and shoulder.

She is content in the arms of a Black sister, something she would have scarcely imagined a little over a year ago. But as snow begins to drift to the ground outside during this chilly December night, Hermione snuggles in closer to Andromeda, a sense of safety and love enveloping her until she, much like the snow outside, drifts to a rest.


End file.
